


Good times

by Trash



Series: Kinktober 2017 [31]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Kinktober 2017, M/M, day 31: any combo - bath/scars/sleepy sex, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: Dan stops taking his medication.





	Good times

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2017, day 31: any combination of prompts. (Bath, scars, sleepy sex)

Dan stops taking his medication.  
  
It's an accident at first. It's so easy to fall out of routine when they're touring, especially in America where they often wake up in a different time zone.  
  
One night he falls asleep with his contact lenses in, and forgets to take his medication. Shit happens.  
  
It's almost twenty four hours later that he realises he didn't take it. And he thinks well, fuck it. What difference does it make anyway?  
  
Because for something that costs him £16.20 every month they don't seem to really do anything. Going on stage doesn't get any easier, and he is still depressed. And okay, it's not like money is an issue. But it's the principle.  
  
So he just. Stops.  
  
And it's fine. It's really fine. He's just as anxious as ever and things seem as bleak as they ever did. But he's never written as much in his life, and he feels things.  
  
It's not that he took being on stage for granted, but it had become routine. Now, though, he felt it. Felt the energy that thrummed through the band, the crowd. He felt awake. Like someone had turned the brightness up on his life.  
  
Kyle only comments when Dan manhandles him into their hotel room as soon as they had checked in, pushing him down onto the bed and kissing him slowly.  
  
"Woah," he says, "you okay?"  
  
Dan hummed against Kyle's sternum, pressing light kisses to his skin. "Want you," he says, pressing down against Kyle to make sure he understands.  
  
Kyle pulls his face up to kiss him, fixes him with an unreadable expression. "Want you too," he says after a second, and kisses Dan breathless. When they wake up the morning after Dan crawls on top of Kyle again, and the make love as the sun rises outside.  
  
Dan starts getting headaches. Crippling migraines with lights that float past his eyes when he has them open. Painkillers don't help, but sleep seems to. So he sleeps, and he guesses that's his insomnia cured too. He sleeps for twelve hours a night, some nights, and naps through the day when he can, but doesn’t feel particularly well-rested for it.  
  
So despite sleeping for ten hours he is tired and spaced out going into a performance at a local radio station. He feels far away, slowed down. And he’s wondering, how many painkillers did I take? Was it too many? Is this an overdose?  
  
But he took two migraine pills, so no it isn’t. So why, then, does he feel like he has been wrapped in cotton wool? Everything feels muted and distant. He stares at his keyboard, ignoring Kyle nudging his elbow every now and then as they play. And it’s Glory, and it should be so easy, but suddenly the words disappear from his mind and he misses a line. Then it’s back, the melody and the chords and the words and he’s fine fine fine, he’s fine.  
  
Until he isn’t.  
  
People are talking about it, the Glory thing. They’re talking about him, about how tired he has been looking and how sad and how he’s reverted to his shy, Bad Blood self in interviews and hides at the back when he’s on stage and when did he stops going into the audience during Flaws? There’s something wrong, everybody is saying, we’re all worried, they’re saying.  
  
Kyle is no exception. “We’re all worried,” he says, his face doing a concerned thing.  
  
Dan smiles tightly. “I’m fine,” he says, because what else is he meant to say? That he feels broken? That he feels like shattered glass held in place momentarily, eventually it’ll all fall apart? “I’m fine.”  
  
But the nightmares start again, the intrusive thoughts he hasn’t faced for so long. They’re at a petrol station making their way back to the bus and a lorry drives past and he thinks about throwing himself underneath it. At night he runs his fingers over the scars on the top of his legs, old enough to not itch anymore but he swears he can feel them. Feel the burn of them, pulled tight over old wounds.  
  
He’s lying in bed, staring at the wall, and he is aware of Kyle coming in and going into the bathroom. A tap runs, then Kyle appears in front of him and scoops him up and he wants to protest, to fight, but he doesn’t have it in him.  
  
The bath of cold water that he is dropped in, fully dressed, is a shock to the system. He struggles to catch his breath and when he does he says, “What the fuck, Kyle?”

And Kyle pulls two boxes of Sertaline and Xanax from his back pocket, waving them in Dan’s face. “Did you think I’d not notice?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Dan says, his new slogan.

“No you’re not. You’re a bloody mess. You’re…you need to…why did you stop taking them?”  
  
And Dan doesn’t know. He can’t remember. He says as much.  
  
Kyle kneels down by the side of the bath and sighs. “Babes,” he says, “I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about you, I’m so worried. And I can’t…if you did something…please, take them. And if they’re not what you want then we’ll go back to the doctor when we get home. Okay?”  
  
Dan nods, numbly. He wants to kiss the concerned look off Kyle’s face, smooth out the furrow of his brow. It makes him sad that his sadness has made Kyle look like this. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks.


End file.
